There Will Be Nothing
by radiomash
Summary: The headaches are getting worse. And so is the fear they bring. Is Reid finally losing his mind? Or is it the Arizona heat and the particularly difficult case he's working. Perhaps he just needs someone to show him the truth. Reid/OC. Casefic.
1. Chapter 1: The Heat

**So I'm venturing into Criminal Minds territory for the first time with this one. But Reid's battle against his own mind is a plot line too compelling not to write about. This will be a case fic, and also an OC romance I suppose. It may start slow, but things will heat up quick, and the OC will show up in the next chapter. **

**Chapter 1: The Heat**

It was hot. Too hot to be standing around, waiting, baking in the midday sun. Even with his sunglasses on, Reid was squinting, trying to discern the blurry, bleached out shapes in front of him. The sun's rays were like daggers, shooting straight through his eyes and into his brain, bursting every now and then in especially piercing throbs. He thrust his hand into his worn leather bag retrieving a small bottle of Advil and popped the cap, sighing at the singular pill that rattled around inside. One pill wouldn't even begin to take the edge off. He popped it in his mouth anyway, swallowing it dry. It was better than nothing.

He took a step back, leaning against the side of the large SUV, and let his head drop, his eyes snapping shut. Relief flooded his head, the throbbing momentarily ebbing as he rubbed at his eyes beneath the glasses. He wished he had had the foresight to buy more Advil before he came into work. Now he would have to wait at least nine more hours for any kind of relief. Not that the Advil did much really. It only chipped away at the pain, clearing the fog just enough so he could think more clearly, concentrate better on his work. But even then he could feel himself slipping, his mind refusing to work the way it used to, rebelling against the pain. And now people were starting to catch on, ask if he was ok, throw each other concerned glances every time he excused himself early from dinner or showed up late to meetings. Prentiss had even tried to start a conversation about his odd behavior, casually inquiring about how he was feeling. She probably thought he was using again. They all probably did. And that was fine with Spencer, it was good actually. It was better than the truth. The truth was horrifying. The truth was everything he was afraid of. The truth was what kept him up at night.

He heard footsteps and looked up. Morgan was walking towards him, a sheen of sweat covering his dark skin. He leaned against the SUV beside Reid and wiped at his forehead. "Man, it's a hot one. It's days like this that got me wishing for good ole DC cloud cover."

Reid gave a small nod, tilting his head back to glare up at the sun. It was directly overhead now, beating down with unrelenting force. They had been in Arizona for almost two weeks now, and each day seemed to increase in heat by about five degrees. It wouldn't have been a problem really since he rarely went into the field anymore. He usually hung back at the station, holed up with his maps, nice and safe and cool in the air-conditioning. Especially now with the headaches, he didn't trust himself with a gun. Not when his aim was so unreliable to begin with. But now, now the city was experiencing rolling blackouts due to the heat. His cool, safe haven had become a sweltering convection oven of bodies. The only relief he now got was in riding in the SUV's to the crime scenes, windows rolled up tight and AC blasting.

"It's going to be another ten minutes or so," Morgan continued. "The lab guys are still taking pictures."

"What're we looking at?" Spencer asked, rubbing at his eyes one last time before straightening up and turning to face Morgan.

Morgan shot him a brief glance of concern before continuing. "Same as before. White female, approximately 24 years of age, stabbed repeatedly in the chest. She fits the type, small, brunette, blue eyes."

"Same ritual as the others?" Reid asked, trying to sound interested in the details though all he could really think about was the stabbing pain behind his eye. Always the same place, right behind his right eye, so piercing it felt as if it was shooting through it. Sometimes the pain would expand to envelope his entire head, making it one big throbbing mass, but usually it remained tightly situated behind his right eye. Even on good days the dull ache never completely went away.

"Same thing," Morgan answered. "He dressed her up, made her play house for a couple days, then killed her. No signs of rape or sexual assault, just like the others."

Reid shook his head, looking down at his feet. "It doesn't make sense," he said softly, almost to himself. "He's clearly power driven, wants to control everything about them, to dominate them, but he doesn't touch them until he kills them. It doesn't fit."

"I know," Morgan replied. "This guy doesn't even fit his own profile."

An officer walked over, signaling that the house was clear for the agents to enter. Morgan nodded at the officer, looking back over at Reid.

"Ready kid?" he asked.

Reid nodded, squinting behind his glasses as he followed Morgan into the house. It was a small house, but nicely furnished. It was simple, homey. In the living room there was a decent sized TV, a comfortable looking couch, and dozens of framed pictures of friends and family. The fridge was fully stocked, the kitchen relatively clean, and the coffee pot was still on. Everything was ordinary, completely average. Everything except the dead girl that lay face down in the middle of the living room.

Reid cringed when he saw her. No matter how many bodies he saw, no matter how gruesome the scene, he never got used to it. The first initial twinge of revulsion never went away, the twisting in his stomach, the tightening in his throat. His gut reaction, no matter what, was always to run. This all happened in a fraction of a second, and then he was fine. His mind would clear, his stomach loosen, and he would be able to do his job. But that first moment, he always dreaded that first moment. He tried to enter crime scenes last so that the rest of the team never saw the flash of terror that always gripped him. He already knew he was the weakest member of the team when it came to things like that, he didn't need to give them any more reasons to treat him like a baby. But it was hard not to cringe, it was instinct. The moment he stopped cringing, Reid thought, that was the moment he had lost to the job.

He wondered if the other agents experienced the same thing every time they saw a body.

Or maybe it was just him.

"Reid." Morgan's voiced cut through the fog. Reid's eyes snapped up to meet Morgan's. "What do you think?" he continued.

Reid looked back down at the body. She looked so fragile, like a broken doll, her pale skin contrasting harshly against the crimson of the blood that pooled around her. She looked just like all the others, dressed in a retro 50's dress, now stained with blood, hair curled into a 50's style bob, her makeup done perfectly without a single smudge. She was cared for lovingly before she was brutally murdered.

"Same MO and same signature," Reid replied. "He doesn't seem to be evolving or de-evolving in any way. He's just…comfortable."

"Well hopefully he'll get too comfortable and start messing up," Morgan said, leaning over the girl to get a better look at her face. "Then we can catch this sick bastard."

Morgan stood and walked over to a lab guy to ask about the blood splatter, but Reid stood rooted to the spot, staring at the girl's lifeless body. He wondered what she was thinking right before he killed her. If maybe she thought he would actually let her go. There was never any sign of a struggle at any of the scenes. The unsub somehow convinced the girls to play out his sick fantasy for three whole days without the neighbors or police ever finding out. Some of the neighbors even reported seeing the victims out watering the plants with an unfamiliar man only hours before they were killed. They pretended everything was perfectly normal and gardened while a serial killer stood at their side.

Reid cringed again, this time at an especially painful stab in his head. The heat was becoming too much. It was making him nauseous. Or maybe it was the headache. Or all the blood.

Whatever it was, he had to get out of that house.

He walked to the door, signaling to Morgan that he was going outside, and practically ran to the SUV, yanking open the passenger side door and sliding onto the hot leather seat. It burned him through his pants, sending tingles up his spine. He searched frantically through his pockets for the keys so he could turn the AC on and finally get some relief, only to realize that Morgan had them. "Perfect," he sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating whether to go in and ask for the keys from Morgan, or to just wait it out. He definitely didn't want to go back into that house with that broken girl lying in a pool of her own blood, dozens of men standing around snapping pictures and examining her body. It was grotesque in a way. It was immoral really. But it was also necessary. And his job.

The sound of the driver's door opening snapped Reid out of his mental battle. Morgan was sliding onto the seat, grinning at him. "Can't handle the heat pretty boy?"

"Just drive," Reid muttered, closing his eyes in anticipation of the air that would soon be flowing through the car.

Morgan laughed and turned the car on, air instantly blowing from the vents. Reid groaned in satisfaction, angling the vents so they hit him directly.

Morgan shook his head, still laughing. "It's not even cool yet. It's just blowing hot air at you."

"It's better than nothing," Reid mumbled. "The heat here wouldn't be so bad if there was any wind. A breeze, a single gust, anything. But there's nothing, the heat just…sits. Everything about this is place is just so—so stagnant."

Morgan was silent for a long moment before replying. "I don't know exactly what it is. Maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's the case itself, but this place makes me feel…stuck."

Reid glanced over at Morgan. His eyes were glued to the road, his face tense. The vein in his neck that only showed when he was really angry or really stressed was clearly visible. He was being serious. Slick, cool as steal Morgan was feeling the heat just as much as Reid was. Reid didn't know if this made him feel better, or worse.

"We just need something to set things in motion, to kick start things again," Morgan continued. "A new piece of evidence, or a deviation from the pattern. Things have been going too well for our unsub, he's been lucky. He'll mess up, or someone will make him mess up. You'll see. Something's gonna break him."

Reid looked back to the road, miles of desert stretching out in all directions. "I wish whatever it is would hurry up."


	2. Chapter 2: Stained Scarlet

**OK chapter 2. This ones a little bloody, so you've been warned. Review if you like so I know whether to keep going or not! **

**Chapter 2: Stained Scarlet**

Three more days. Three more days had passed without a single sign from the unsub. Three more days of waiting, of looking over the same old evidence, of getting absolutely nowhere. And three more days of the heat.

Slowly but surely, the team was beginning to unravel.

Everyone was starting to get a little desperate. Emily had locked herself in a dark room with the crime scene photos and hadn't emerged for three hours, Derek had taken to muttering to himself as he paced the police headquarters' hallways, gesturing wildly, JJ was a ghost, always either out making press statements or on the phone with the head of some department or other, and Hotch had locked himself in his makeshift office. The blinds had been drawn for a little over six hours now. No one wanted to be the first to enter.

The only one who seemed completely fine was Rossi. He sat at the table sipping his coffee and casually flipping through the case files.

Reid shot him a frustrated glance before turning back to the massive map that was tacked to the wall. Nothing ever got to Rossi, and everything seemed to get to Reid. It was annoying.

Because to be perfectly honest, Reid was crawling out of his skin. He was about one bead of sweat away from calling it quits and flying himself back to Virginia. Two weeks. Two weeks and they were still exactly where they had started. He glanced up at the clock that hung above his map. And now the unsub would kill again within the next six hours, and they could do nothing to stop him.

There was a loud bang and both Reid and Rossi snapped their heads in the direction it came from. Hotch stood in the doorway of his office, the blinds covering the door window still rattling from the force of the door being slammed open. "Conference room, five minutes. Get the others."

And then he was gone, back into his dark office, the door closed tightly behind him. Reid and Rossi looked at each other, each unsure of what had just happened. Hotch never lost his cool, never. It was unnerving. "So I guess conference room in five then," Rossi said slowly. "I'll get the others."

Five minutes later Reid found himself sitting next to a jittery Emily and a half asleep Morgan in the conference room, waiting for Hotch to arrive. Everyone was on edge. The tension was almost suffocating.

A few seconds later Hotch brushed into the room, heading directly to the front where he stood for a moment, surveying his team. After a few seconds he took a deep breath, steadying himself, then began to speak. "This is a hard one. I know that. It feels like we're running in circles. Like two weeks straight of déjà vu." He paused, looking around the room, making eye contact with each of his agents. "But that's all the more reason for us to keep going, to step up our game. We need to double our efforts. He kills every three days, that gives us five hours max before we have another body. JJ, I want another press release out by the end of the hour, and I want it played on repeat on every news channel until we find this guy. Our unsub goes out in public with his victims while they're still alive. We need to use his arrogance and comfort against him. Give the public as many details as possible so they know what to look for. If we're going to catch him, it's going to be while he's with one of his victims." JJ nodded, writing furiously on the pad of paper in front of her.

"Morgan, Prentiss, I want you on location canvassing. We know he hits middle class single women, so I want you guys in the streets in every neighborhood with a high population of single women." Both agents nodded in acknowledgement.

"Reid, keep working on that geographic profile. There has to be some pattern that tells us where his home base is. Find it." Reid nodded to his boss.

"Rossi, I want you with me here. We're missing something, something important about our unsub. We're going to re-work the profile until it fits." Rossi gave a small nod, leaning forward to grab the rest of the case files from the table. "That's it. Let's go." Hotch finished and the agents sprang into action. JJ was the phone instantly while Morgan and Prentiss grabbed their keys and headed for the door. Rossi followed Hotch out of the room and into his office, the door closing behind them, blinds once again drawn.

And just like that Reid was alone. He sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn't think, his mind was raw. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't hold onto a thought long enough to work it through. It was a foreign feeling, not being able to control his mind. His mind always worked at a million miles a second, but usually his thoughts were organized, he could keep up with them. But now, now it was just…chaos. He rubbed at his forehead, willing his mind to start working again, to go back to the way it used to be. It was useless.

So he got a cup of coffee.

Coffee was good. Coffee was soothing. Coffee helped him think.

Sipping on a fresh cup, Reid went back to his map. There were pins and red marks covering the map of Phoenix, all of it looking confusing to Reid now. Before he would have known exactly what he had meant by all the pins and circles, but now it just looked like a big blob of squiggles and dots. He couldn't remember what each pin meant, what each circle represented. It was utterly overwhelming.

There was a flurry of noise and movement coming from the police pen behind Reid and for the second time that day, Hotch's office door slammed open, shaking the wall it slammed into. Hotch and Rossi flew out of the office, signaling Reid to follow as they headed straight for the pen where the police officers had gathered in a clump, all circling a woman on the phone. Reid came to a halt next to Rossi, looking from him to the woman on the phone in confusion.

She was nodding, writing something on a piece of paper. "Got it. 19 Hutchins Lane." She hung up abruptly and turned to face Hotch, handing him the piece of paper. "We got a hit. The caller said she saw an unfamiliar man watering plants with their neighbor. The neighbor's young and brunette. And she's dressed in 50s clothing."

"It's him," Hotch said, turning to face Rossi and Reid. "Let's go."

The station erupted into motion. It took Reid a few moments to clear his head enough to realize that Hotch and Rossi were already almost out the door. He ran after them, jumping into the backseat of the SUV just as the engine roared to life. Seconds later they were careening down the road at a dangerous speed, swerving wildly around traffic. Hotch was driving like a man possessed. Maybe he was a man possessed, Reid thought. He sure wasn't acting like the cool headed Hotch that had led their team through terrors unmatched by the best of horror movies. Reid was certain Hotch hadn't blinked in three days. He was pure determination now.

Rossi clutched at his armrest, shooting an unsure look over his shoulder at Reid. Reid just shrugged, clutching at his own armrest to steady himself as he car swerved dramatically around a minivan. Lights and sirens flashed around them, an army of local officers following close behind their car. Morgan and Prentiss were also en-route, but they were still ten minutes away. It'll be over by then, Reid though. Either the unsub will be dead by then, or his victim will be.

Reid shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had to focus. He couldn't stay at the back of the pack this time, he was on the front lines. This was it. This is what he had been waiting for. Things were in motion now. He had to be ready.

He wasn't ready. Not for this. He couldn't do it. He should have stayed behind. He hadn't even shot his gun since the Bartons, since he himself got shot almost three years ago. And he couldn't see right with the sun. What if he missed. What if he shot the girl instead. What if—

They were there. It was time.

Before he knew it, Reid was out of the car, slowly crossing the lawn of a very nice, very ordinary looking house, gun drawn, with Hotch on his left and Rossi on his right.

There was movement in the house and all three froze, raising their weapons slightly.

"We know you're in there! Come out with your hand up!" Hotch yelled.

There was no noise. No more signs of movement.

"You have five seconds to let the girl go and come out with your hands raised or we're coming in!"

Again nothing. Complete silence.

Reid steadied himself, readying for the attack.

Hotch opened his mouth, preparing to give his final warning, when the front door slammed open. All three agents raised their weapons, aiming to kill.

But instead of a man, a small brunette woman stood in the doorway, swaying slightly. She just stared blankly out at them, her face white as a sheet.

Then she took a staggering step forward, stumbling down the front steps and onto the grass, barely staying on her feet. It was then that Reid saw the blood. It was streaming down her front, pouring out of a wound in her stomach, staining her lily yellow dress crimson.

Before he knew what he as doing, Reid was running towards the girl. She took another faltering step before collapsing, barely making it into Reid's arms.

Hotch was yelling over his shoulder for a medic while Rossi led a group of officers into the house in search of the unsub. But Reid noticed none of it, all his attention was on the dying girl in his arms.

She was spasming in pain, choking on her own blood as it began to fill her mouth, dripping from the corner of it and rolling down her pale neck. Her breathing was becoming more shallow and labored with each breath, and Reid could almost hear the gurgling as her lungs began to fill with blood.

But her eyes were alert, and they were drilling into Reid's. He couldn't look away. He wouldn't look away. It was almost as if she knew the second he broke eye contact, the moment either of them blinked, she was dead.

Reid put one hand over her wound, trying to stop the blood, while cradling her with his other as she convulsed in his arms. "Shhh, shhhh, it's ok, you're going to be ok," he soothed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

He didn't know if he was telling the truth or not. He had no idea if she would really be ok. Even if she survived, he wasn't sure she would ever be completely ok again. But her wide blue eyes were piercing his own, searching them for something.

"Stay with me, ok? Just stay with me," he said, willing the paramedics to hurry the fuck up. But her eyes had begun to dim, to glaze over as the life slowly faded from them. They were beginning to droop, her body beginning to go slack. "No no no, stay with me, keep your eyes open!" Reid urged, shaking her just slightly. Her eyes opened wide again, connecting with his own. There was something fierce in them, something determined, something that was willing her to live. "You just stay here, with me, ok?" he said again. He could have imagined it, but Reid thought he saw her nod infinitesimally.

"You're going to be ok," he said again, this time with more confidence, wiping another stray tear from her cheek. Her breathing was painfully slow, her body shuddering with each gasping breath, but her eyes had life in them. The dimness had vanished.

And just like that the paramedics were there, lifting her body from his arms and onto the stretcher. In seconds she was gone.

Reid stood, staring blankly in the direction the ambulance had driven off in. Police officers and other agents were running around him in a flurry of motion, yelling to each other and into radios as he stood in a daze, rooted to the spot.

"Reid. Reid!" Reid's eyes snapped forward to find Morgan and Prentiss standing in front of him, horrified looks on their faces. "What the hell happened?" Morgan asked, his eyes drifting down over Reid's body.

Reid followed his eyes, looking down at his own body, and froze. His pants and shirt were covered in blood, soaked and sticky with it. And his hands. His hands were stained scarlet. Covered in the blood of a girl he didn't know the name of.


	3. Chapter 3: Ms Blake

**Sorry for the longish wait, this one was kind of a monster to write. Not my favorite, but necessary for plot development. I appreciate all the favorite adds and such! Thanks to those who reviewed, I really really appreciate it! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Ms. Blake<strong>

It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and Reid was wide-awake. The entire team had been ordered back to their respective hotel rooms to get some sleep at around 10 pm by an extremely drained looking Hotch, but after around 2:30 am, Reid had given up on actually getting any rest. Which was a shame, seeing as they had been pulling 16-hour days for the last week and half, and he foresaw no change coming in his immediate future. But it didn't matter; Reid was wired.

Upon arriving back in his room, he had immediately popped four Advil and collapsed on his bed. Mercifully, the power was back and his AC was blowing at full blast, the cool air slowly picking away layer by layer at the heat that seemed to have sunk deep into his core. He could feel, muscle by muscle, joint by joint, his body slowly pulling itself back together.

By the time 4 am rolled around, Reid was lying in the same exact position, still fully clothed, legs partially dangling off of the edge of the bed and his arms spread wide as if embracing the cool air in a hug. He was so tired, so extremely tired, but his mind wouldn't shut the hell up. It was racing far faster than he could keep up with, flitting from one thought to the next with no apparent rhyme or reason. Images of previous victims, memories of his childhood from when his mother was still pretending she was capable enough to take care of him, past conversations he shared with Morgan over a burger and beer at the local bar, all flashed through his mind. A current of memories that his mind would never allow him to forget. Trivial, horrifying, painful things.

There was one memory, however, that his mind kept going back to.

The events of the previous day flashed through his mind sporadically, sprinkled into the chaotic mix of his other memories but repeated with much more consistency. It would usually start with the fear he felt on the ride over, the insecurity and the anxiety, his heart rate increasing at just the memory, then the excitement, the adrenalin rush that always accompanied that first step out the SUV door and onto uncertain terrain, and then the horror, the absolute horror as the girl had stepped out of the door, covered in blood, dying in his arms as he watched helplessly, and finally confusion, the haze as thick as soup, the emptiness.

Reid had seen some pretty horrible things at this job, had even experienced a few of them first hand, but for some reason the events of the previous afternoon had shaken him. Perhaps it was because of exhaustion, or the heat, or his headaches, but seeing the pain and fear and hope, all flashing as fast as lightning through the girl's eyes, it had just been so…so real.

You had to achieve a certain level of desensitization to have any longevity in his line of work, and staring at pictures of butchered and brutally murdered men, women, and children all day helped in that process. But every now and then, something would happen. Something that would snap into shocking focus the reality that was the fragility of the human existence. Something like having another human being's life literally slipping out between your fingers in crimson red currents.

It was that image, the image of the blood welling up between his fingers as he firmly pressed her belly, trying in vain to stop the bleeding, and after, his hands and clothes stained red as the ambulance took her away to more capable hands. That was what haunted him. That was why he could find no sleep tonight. It was because of the blood.

And what made it all a million times worse was that they didn't even catch the guy. He had slipped through their fingers, slipping out the back like a snake while havoc and confusion ensued in the front. They had all been so distracted by the girl that by the time Rossi and his officers cleared the house he had been long gone without so much as a fingerprint or scrap or DNA left behind as evidence.

But they had the girl. She had seen the unsub, had spent three whole days with him, knew more about him than anyone else. She was the game changer.

Assuming she lived through the night.

Last Reid had heard she was going into surgery, and that was eight hours ago. Then he had been sent to bed and all information had stopped. He would have to wait until morning to see if she had lived.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't sleep. The rest of their investigation rested on the life of that girl.

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><p>Two hours later Reid's alarm was blaring Neil Diamond's <em>Mr. Bojangles <em>at an unfortunate volume. He started awake, shooting into the sitting position and sending his sheets and blankets flying to the floor. Reid was startled to find that not only had he actually fallen asleep, but that he was also freezing. The AC was still blasting and his toes were actually numb they were so cold.

He groaned, falling back on the bed and rubbing at his eyes. His head was already throbbing, the sharp pain picking away behind his eye. It was going to be a long day.

An hour later Reid was showered, dressed, and sipping a steaming cup of coffee while seated in one of the hotel lobby's huge overstuffed lounge chairs. Prentiss, Hotch, and JJ sat across from him on a couch, each looking as tired as Reid felt. Morgan and Rossi hadn't shown up yet.

It was three past seven. Reid knew this because Hotch had checked his watch three times, once for each minute that Morgan and Rossi were late. Two more times and Hotch would make one of the others call them. Reid sunk deeper into the plush cushions of the chair, trying to disappear into them. He really hoped Hotch picked Prentiss or JJ to deliver the call, he just couldn't handle Rossi's sarcasm or Morgan's grumpiness this early. Especially not on only two hours of sleep. And especially not when he had so much on his mind.

He was nervous. A lot was riding on the information they gathered today. A lot was riding on that girl still being alive. His right knee was bouncing erratically, his heel lightly tapping out a quick beat on the carpeted floor. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes lifting to meet Prentiss's sharp stare. Reid immediately stopped all movement. She was staring hard at him, her eyes darting from his foot to his hand at his neck and back to his eyes. Yup, she definitely thought he was using again.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything—well he really didn't know what he was going to say, but it didn't matter because at that moment Rossi and Morgan waltzed in, each carrying a huge mug of coffee and neither looking the least bit remorseful at keeping the rest of the team waiting.

Hotch sprang into action, rising from the couch to address the team. "You're late," he directed at Rossi and Morgan, but gave them no room for reply as he had already shot right into the morning briefing. "We have some good news, Ms. Blake survived her attack and is presently in stable condition at St. Francis Memorial Hospital."

There was a round of sighs of relief and murmurs of "Thank God" from his fellow teammates. It took Reid almost ten whole seconds to realize that Hotch was talking about the girl from the previous day. _Ms. Blake_ he thought. _Her last name is Blake_. Almost immediately he relaxed, letting out a large breath he didn't know he had been holding. This was huge. This was what they had been waiting for. This was the game changer.

"Reid," Hotch's voice grabbed his attention again, his head snapping up to look at his boss. "Rossi," Hotch continued. "I want the two of you with me at the hospital. We're going to interview Ms. Blake, see what information we can get from her." Both Reid and Rossi nodded in acknowledgement. "Morgan and Prentiss, I want the two of you back at the crime scene. Look it over with some fresh eyes, see if there's anything we missed. He was cut short this time, forced to change his pattern. Maybe he messed up and left something behind."

Morgan leaned forward, a skeptical look on his face. "Hotch, we've been through that house, top to bottom about a dozen times. There's nothing there—" he protested.

"There is," Hotch cut him off. "Search the scene a dozen more times if you have to. That house is the break in the pattern, the anomaly, _something_ is there. We're just not seeing it."

Morgan sighed, leaning back and shooting Emily a dubious look. Emily gave him a slight shrug, and turned her attention back to Hotch, who was still rattling off assignments. "JJ, the Police Chief would like to speak with you. It appears he is unhappy with the press coverage his city is getting."

"Not again," she grumbled out under her breath, her shoulders sagging slightly.

"That's it everyone. Call me if you need anything. Reid, Rossi, let's go." And with that the briefing was over.

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><p>Reid hated hospitals. Not only had he himself has some pretty unpleasant experiences in them: the aftermath of the Tobias Hankel incident, the SARS episode, and then the gunshot wound and rehabilitation, but more than anything else they reminded him of his mother.<p>

Rarely did her episodes ever get to the point where she would have to be hospitalized, but when he was younger, too young really to know what to do, in those dark times when she would so quickly spiral into complete blackness, all Spencer had known to do was to call the police. Then he would be consumed with guilt, ashamed that he could not take better care of his own mother, that he could not do it all on his own. Hospitals meant pain, hurt, guilt. Hospitals meant complete and absolute loss of control.

The stale, sterile smell invaded his lungs as he followed Rossi and Hotch down the hospital's hallway, the harsh florescent lights showing even more dramatically the dark circles that hung heavily under each of their eyes.

Hotch came to an abrupt holt outside of the room they had been directed to, turning to face the two other agents with a serious look on his face. He paused briefly, seemingly trying to find his words, before speaking in a low voice. "We have to be…delicate," he said slowly. "This girl has endured immense trauma and is still in the beginning stages of recovery. But," he paused again, choosing his words carefully. "But she is also now the most important aspect of our investigation. We need whatever information she has. We need to push, but not too hard." He eyed Rossi as he said this. "Understand?"

"Completely," Rossi answered.

"Yes sir," Reid also answered in a small voice, so small he wasn't sure if Hotch had even heard him. But he had a feeling that speech was more directed at Rossi than himself. David Rossi was an excellent agent and one of the best profilers in the business, but he also had the worst bedside manners Reid had ever seen. Sensitivity was not one of his strong suits.

Hotch gave a curt nod and turned back to the door, pushing it open slowly. The three agents filed in, forming a half circle around the foot of the girl's bed.

She stared back at them, eyes wide. They were filled with something, not fear but something else, something Reid recognized from the moments when she had been bleeding out in his arms. It was a certain fierceness, an absolute determination. Reid studied her quickly. She looked different without the thick makeup the unsub had put on her and the puffy 50s bob he had styled. Her face was clean, her hair hanging limp and straight. She looked better this way, it looked more natural. But she was still pale, as pale as the stark white sheets she was lying on. And those eyes, those eyes were the same.

Hotch was the first to break the silence. "Ms. Blake, I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is SSA David Rossi, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit and we would like to ask you some questions about what happened if that's ok with you."

"Anna," she responded in a wavering voice. She cleared her throat immediately after she spoke, seemingly upset at how weak her voice had sounded.

"I'm sorry," Hotch asked in confusion.

"My name is Anna," she said again, this time with more strength. "And yes, that's ok."

"Ok Anna," Hotch began again slowly, in a gentle voice. "Can you tell me how it all began? Did you know the man that attacked you?"

"No," Anna answered, her brow knitted together in thought, or perhaps in confusion. "I—I came home from work one night and he was—he was just sitting there, in my living room, waiting for me." She was staring at her lap now, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "He had a whole dinner laid out on the dining room table, and a dress hanging in the entryway." She looked up to meet the agents' eyes. "He—he had cleaned my house."

Reid shot Hotch a look. "He's more organized than we thought," he said in a low rushed voice. "He knew her routine, got into her house without setting off any alarms or breaking anything. He spent hours in the house before she even got there."

Hotch nodded, looking back to Anna. "Once you were in the house, how did he get you to stay?" Hotch asked. "Did he use force, did he threaten you?"

Anna paused, rubbing her hands together in a nervous gesture. "He had these, these things. They looked like jewelry, but they weren't. He had a necklace, a bracelet, and a belt. He held a gun to my head and made me put them on and every time—" She paused again, grimacing. "Every time I didn't do what he said he, he electrocuted me with them."

The agents were silent. This had certainly never crossed their minds as his means of control.

"The first time was the worst," Anna continued. "I lost consciousness, for a couple hours I think. I woke up and my whole body was sore. He said that that was the lowest setting, that if I didn't do what he said he would make it worse, that he would kill me. He said that if I let him stay for a couple days, if I was a good host and did everything he asked, he would let me go." Anna's eyes began to glisten for the first time with what Reid soon realized were tears. "I was so stupid," she said harshly, furiously wiping at one of the tears that had escaped. "I actually believed him. I—I cooked for that man, cleaned up after him, did his laundry, laughed at his stupid fucking jokes. I slept in the same bed as him!" She was trembling in anger now, her breath coming out in short gasps. "I played wife for three fucking days, letting him dress me up like a doll and shock me like a dog if I said the wrong thing. I didn't even try to escape, not really. I should have—I should have tried harder!"

"Anna, you did the right thing," Hotch tried to sooth, shooting Reid and Rossi an alarmed look.

"If you hadn't played along, you would be dead now," Rossi added bluntly.

His words backfired, causing Anna's eyes to widen even further and her breaths to come out in even shorter gasps. The machine that read her heart rate began to beep more rapidly, almost doubling in pace.

Rossi stood in stunned silence, completely unsure of what to do. Hotch stood next to him, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide in a manner that suggested he was way out of his comfort zone in terms of his knowledge in how to comfort distraught women.

Later, Reid would rationalize to himself that the reason he stepped forward and placed a trembling hand on Anna's arm was because he had read somewhere that physical contact was one of the best ways to calm someone in the midst of a panic attack. In the moment, however, it just seemed like the right thing to do. So he did it.

Upon contact, Anna's eyes snapped up to meet his own, almost perfectly round and covered in a glistening layer of fresh tears.

"Anna," he said softly, his hand barely making contact with her arm. "It's over now. That's all behind you. You're here, right now, and you're ok."

They stayed like that, Reid standing awkwardly over her, hand barely resting on her pale arm, eyes connected in a fierce battle. After a few moments she gave a small nod, taking a shaky, calming breath.

Reid detached his hand from her, taking a step back just as a large female nurse rushed into the room. "What the hell is going on in here?" she yelled. "We just got a heart rate reading off the charts in the office. You three," she gestured at Hotch, Rossi, and Reid, "out, right now. Ms. Blake is in no condition to be placed under any stress. She needs rest, not to relive what that lunatic did to her."

Hotch looked like he was about to protest, but thought better of it, turning back to Anna to speak. "Anna, if we brought a sketch artist in, do you think you would be able to provide us with a visual. When you're feeling better of course," he added quickly after the nurse began to object.

"Yes, definitely," she answered, her breathing slowing to an almost normal rate. "I'll never forget his face," she finished darkly.

"Thank you Ms. Blake. You've already been a great help. We'll be in touch for further interviews when you've recovered more." Hotch turned to the door to leave, nodding a curt, "Ma'am" to the irritated nurse before brushing out the door, Rossi on his heels. Reid turned to follow, but a small voice stopped him.

"Dr. Reid?" Anna called out.

He turned to face her again, his brows knitted in confusion.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she continued, her round eyes never blinking. "For yesterday, and for today. If you hadn't been there, I don't think I would have—" Her throat caught. She couldn't say the words. "Thank you."

Reid didn't know exactly how to respond. He felt like thanking _her_, for still being alive, for not adding another body to the growing body count he was keeping in his mind, for being the only break they had had in this case for nearly two weeks. But all he said was, "You're welcome," and walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4: The One That Got Away

**Sorry for my inconsistency with the updates. I write when I have time, but I'm finding I have less and less of it. But here's chapter 4. Review if you like it, it makes me write faster! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: The One That Got Away<strong>

"You know he kind of looks like Lenin."

"Prentiss, he in no way resembles John Lennon. Not even kind of."

"I was talking about Vladimir Lenin, Morgan. Add a little goatee and mustache and—"

"Can we focus please?" Hotch's voice cut through the air, ending all side discussions. The entire team, sans Rossi who had disappeared a couple hours earlier, to where no one was quite sure, was seated around the conference table, each studying a copy of the headshot the sketch artists had created from Anna's description.

It had been 25 hours since Reid's visit to the hospital, not that he was counting, and in that time there had been a visible change in the team. They were re-energized by the new evidence, the possibility of actually catching the guy now seeming within reach. The thick fog of tension that had clung to each of them began to lessen, the desperation ebb away into a more crystalline focus. They were even starting to crack jokes again.

The only one who seemed unaffected by the course of events was Hotch. He was still on edge, still just as tense as before, if not more. The dark circles under his eyes were darker even than Reid's. He clearly had not taken his own advice and gotten any rest. Even his usually immaculately pressed dress shirt was slightly rumpled, as if he had slept a fitful few moments in it before giving up on sleep all together and coming into work. Reid would have been concerned about Hotch. Concerned that he was heading for the edge. That he was unraveling before Reid's eyes like he had only once before; the day he had found Haley. The day Reid witnessed for the first time a man turn to ash, so completely destroyed and consumed by his loss that there seemed no possible way that life could ever go on. God that horrible day. But this was not that day, and this was not that Hotch. As much as Hotch was showing definite signs of the wear and tear of the job, his eyes were clear and alert. He was focused, more focused probably than anyone else working the case. And Reid was not concerned. Yet.

"We need to focus on identifying who this man is," Hotch continued on the same breath. "I want his face plastered all over the state, on every news station, every newspaper cover, I want his face hanging in every shop in the city." His voice was hard, brimming with a fierce resolve, his entire body tense. His jaw was so tight Reid was surprised he was even able to get the words out. "I want to make it impossible for this guy to show his face without being recognized. This is our chance, let's make him pay."

Hotch paused, staring around the silent room. He seemed to be contemplating speaking more, but thought better of it, mumbling out a short, "That's all," before heading for the door.

As the door closed behind him, Morgan and Prentiss turned to each other.

"What the hell is up with Hotch?" Morgan asked, eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea," Prentiss answered, her eyes wide.

"I haven't seen him act like this since…" Morgan trailed off. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid looked at each other, silent understanding passing between them. No one talked about Haley, not out loud anyway. She was alluded to, through unfinished sentences and knowing stares, but never spoken about. She was a constant reminder of what they all gave up when they took the job, of the life they could never have.

For Reid, the only image that was now conjured by Haley's name was of Jack's heartbreaking sobs as his mother was lowered into the earth, Hotch standing helpless beside him, unable to make Jack's hurt go away. That was why no one else on the team had a family. Why no one really ever let anyone too close. Why the average shelf life of a relationship for a team member was about three weeks. Attachment was dangerous, for both sides.

"I think Hotch is ok," Reid spoke up after a moment, his voice catching slightly from tiredness. "He's not like…like then. He just wants this case done with."

"Yeah well he can join the club," Morgan replied. "At least now we have this," he said, his finger tapping lightly on the sketch. "How was the girl when you went to see her in the hospital?" Morgan asked, turning to Reid. "Do you think we'll get anymore useful info out of her?"

"Uh, I don't know," Reid answered, suddenly inexplicably nervous. "Hotch said he was going to do a second round of interviews once she was recovered more."

"Yeah but what do you think?" Morgan pressed. "Did you get the sense that she would remember more? Or that she would be up for any hypnotherapy or sensory recognition therapy?"

"I don't know Morgan," Reid answered, slightly exasperated.

Morgan continued as if he hadn't heard Reid's response. "Do you think she'd be up for going back to the crime scene? Maybe running through the events with us, seeing if the visuals trigger any memories? Or maybe going on air, making a public statement?"

"I really don't know." Reid answered again, some of his frustration seeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "She'll be released tomorrow, you can ask her yourself."

With that Reid stood and crossed the room to the coffee pot, pouring himself a generous cup. He rubbed at his right eye, pressing his fingertips firmly under his brow, trying to find the magic pressure point that would relieve all his pain. It was only nine and already his head was throbbing.

He felt another body move into the space beside him, a pair of smooth white hands reaching for the coffee pot in front of him. "Hey," a gentle voice said. "You ok?"

Reid looked to his left, meeting Prentiss's concerned gaze. _Great_, Reid thought, _just what I need right now. Another passive aggressive intervention attempt_.

"I'm fine Emily," Reid said in a rough voice, then immediately regretted his tone when her face crumpled in hurt. He sighed, rubbing at his face before bringing his hands up to ruffle his hair. It was so messy, it had been days since he had actually tried to untangle it and his fingers caught slightly at the small knots that had formed in the unruly mass. "I'm just really tired," he continued. "I haven't been sleeping well. Or at all."

He froze. Why had he said that? What had prompted the sudden confessional? He was supposed to be reassuring his team of his abilities, not casting doubt on them, not drawing attention to his vast assortment of weaknesses. He slowly met her eyes again, expecting to see doubt in them, or perhaps a sort of confirmation or even disappointment, but all he saw was understanding. Her gentle brown eyes were knowing, but not pitying. She sighed, putting a small hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly.

"Reid, do you think any of us are getting any sleep?" Prentiss asked in a gentle voice. "Every time I close my eyes I see these girls. I see them dead, and cold, and broken, and I hear that guy laughing at us. I've never even seen the guy, but I hear his laugh, all the time."

Her brows were scrunched together, her lips set tightly together in a thin white line. But her eyes were still kind.

"So what do we do about it?" Reid asked in a small voice, his eyes searching hers for an answer, for some sort of absolute truth.

"The only thing we can do," she answered, her hand slipping from his shoulder and falling slowly to her side. "Catch the guy."

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><p>An hour later Reid found himself once again at the coffee pot, staring off into space as he aimlessly twirled a stirrer in his steaming cup. His mind was wandering again, flitting from one thought to the next with no discernible pattern. He was vaguely aware that he was supposed to be working on his geographic profile, but the thought of staring at his overly confusing map for another second made his head throb painfully in protest. In all honesty it wouldn't make any difference anyway. There was little that could be done until the unsub made his next move. Or until Anna was able to provide more information.<p>

A sharp ringing snapped Reid out of his daze, the noise causing him to jump slightly and almost overturn his coffee cup. He turned around to find Morgan leaning over the conference table to answer the large black phone that sat in its center. He pressed the speakerphone button, his voice light as he called out, "Speak to me baby girl."

"Only if you beg," Garcia's voice purred through the speaker.

Morgan gave a short chuckle before becoming all business. "Tell me what you got."

"Well," she continued, her voice also becoming more serious. "I searched for any recent arrests or convictions in the Phoenix area matching the description given by Ms. Blake and got a list longer than Reid's old hair."

"He probably won't have any priors," Prentiss spoke up. "A crime like the ones he's committing suggest serious mental illness, not a background in illegal activity. He's more likely to have been institutionalized than incarcerated."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Garcia continued, her speech quickening slightly in excitement. "So I performed the same search but instead with those institutionalized in or around the city of Phoenix. Then I cross-referenced with those released within the last six months and got a much shorter, more manageable list that is currently flying through the radio waves and onto your phones."

"Have I told you how much I love you Garcia?" Morgan asked, a large smile on his face.

"Not in the last 24 hours," Garcia responded, the smile evident in her own voice.

"Well I love you," Morgan cooed.

"Awww, ditto my love. Stay cool guys," and with a soft click, the line went dead.

The group turned to each other, about to discuss the recent development in the profile when Rossi burst into the room.

"Hey man, where've you been—," Morgan began but was cut off.

"We have a problem," Rossi rushed out, slightly out of breath. "The unsub killed again."

"What?" Prentiss said in alarm. "This is way too soon, it's only been 48 hours. The MO says we should have at least another 24 before we have another body."

"Well he didn't get to finish last time," Reid murmured, his brows knitted in deep thought. "And news of Anna's survival has been all over the news, it must have triggered him to kill again, and sooner."

"He already had a pretty short cooling off period between victims, now there's basically no period at all." Morgan replied. "So he only spent 36 hours with her this time?"

"From what we can tell only about 12." Rossi answered.

"Only 12?" Prentiss asked in confusion. "And then he stabbed her?"

"Yeah, then he stabbed her," Rossi said, his eyes lowering to gaze intently at the table. "56 times."

"What?" Prentiss said again. "That is way over kill. He's pissed, and is taking it out on his victims."

"And he's going to keep on taking it out on them until he gets what he really wants," Morgan continued, his eyes meeting Reid's across the room. "The one that got away."

Reid swallowed a large lump that was forming in his throat before speaking. "Anna."


	5. Chapter 5: Close Contact

**Once again, sorry it took so long to update, I have consistency problems. But here it is, with a little more Anna thrown into the mix now. Hope you enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated! **

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><p>For the second time in 48 hours, the sickening smell of the hospital filled Reid's lungs. He kept his sunglasses on as he rushed to keep up with Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan who were speeding down the hospital's hallways at a near sprint. The bright florescent lights were bouncing off the white walls and shiny linoleum floor, stabbing into his eyes and making his vision blur slightly. The stunned faces that stared at the team as they careened down the hallway were distorted and muddled, indistinguishable, faceless masses. His stomach was in knots, tightening even more with every step he took.<p>

Before Reid knew what was happening they were at Anna's door, Hotch brushing past the angry nurse as she attempted to stop him from entering the room and bursting through the door.

"Ms. Blake," Hotch said urgently, barely through the doorframe. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid entered behind him, the four of them creating a ring around her bed. Anna's eyes widened in alarm, the book she had been reading falling limp into her lap. "Ms. Blake, I'm very sorry to barge in here like this, but it is extremely important that we remove you from this hospital as soon as possible," Hotch finished.

Anna sat up further in her bed, cringing slightly in discomfort at the wound on her abdomen. She looked back up at Hotch, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. I'm not supposed to be released until tomorrow. What's going on?"

"We believe our unsub is going to come back for you," Hotch continued in his candid manner. "He has an obsessive personality, he can't live with himself until he finishes what he started. Without a doubt, he will make a second attempt at your life."

Anna's eyes were steady, staring unblinkingly into Hotch's. After a moment, she took a deep breath, folding her hands together on her lap. Reid knew she was trying to maintain an air of coolness, but he could see just how tightly her hands were squeezing together, the veins on the top popping out slightly from the pressure. But when she spoke, her voice was steady and even. "You're absolutely sure?"

"The violence of his crime is escalating, and quickly," Prentiss began in a slow, gentle voice. She shot a look at Hotch, silently urging him to let her handle the rest of the talking. She looked back to Anna, taking a step forward and lowering her voice even further. "He's devolving, which means he's nearing the end of his cycle of killing. He's accepted the fact that it's only a matter of time before he gets caught and desires only one thing now before he does."

"Me," Anna finished for her. It was a statement, not a question. Prentiss gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "But shouldn't I be ok here?" Anna continued, shaking her head slightly in confusion. "I mean, I don't think he would walk into a building filled with hundreds of people who all know his face. There's no way he could possibly think he'd make it out alive."

"He doesn't need to make it out alive," Reid spoke up. He could feel all the eyes in the room shift to him. "He just needs to make it in." Reid swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat, ignoring the uncomfortable turning of his stomach. "A killer with his level of mental illness and de-evolution suggest that he has an endgame, and it does not involve him surviving it. He will do whatever he has to to act out this final act, and he will take down as many people as he has to to do it."

Anna swallowed, her hands tightening in her lap. "So you're saying that my being here is putting every life in this hospital at risk?"

Prentiss's eyes shot to Reid's, her mouth opening slightly but no words coming out. Reid spluttered ineloquently, unsure of how to answer. "Uhh, well, uhh, no—that's not—uhh—" He shot a pleading look at Hotch and Morgan, begging for assistance.

Morgan cleared his throat, his voice smooth and calm when he spoke. "We're not going to let anything happen to you, or anyone else. Right now, our best bet at finding this guy is through keeping you hidden and safe, so we're going to move you to a safe location where we can keep a close eye on you while we work on catching this sicko. You're going to be just fine, you got me?"

Anna gave the ghost of a smile, nodding her head in understanding.

"Another one of our agents is collecting clothing and personal items from your house as we speak," Hotch began again in his straightforward manner. "If you feel that you are ready, we'd like to move you now."

Anna gave a small sigh before looking back up at the agents. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

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><p>"So where exactly will I be staying?" Anna asked. She was sitting in the back of one of the large SUVs, sandwiched tightly between Prentiss and Reid. She was still in her hospital gown, having had no time and no clothes to change into before she had been ushered into the car, but thankfully someone had given her a large University of Phoenix sweatshirt to throw over the gown. It was massive on her, going almost down to her knees, and made her look even tinier. Every once in a while her bare knee would brush against Reid's as Hotch took a turn a little too fast, and Reid would feel an electric jolt through the fabric of his pants. He was suddenly hyper aware of her proximity, of how their arms were touching slightly in the cramped space, how she would press into his side a little every time they turned left, how her hands were a ball of constant motion in her lap, rubbing and twisting continuously as her head flitted from side to side, looking intently out one window and then the other. She was nervous, on edge, intensely aware of her surroundings. Her anxious energy was overwhelming, it was seeping into him, making his stomach turn and head ache. Every time she tensed or flinched or jumped, he felt it. Added to the nauseating strobing of the setting sun as it flashed bright orange between the branches of the trees and the houses on the side of the road, Reid felt like his head was going to explode. So he put his sunglasses back on and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that her thigh was now pressed up against his.<p>

"You'll be staying with us at the hotel," Morgan answered from the passenger seat. He turned to shoot her a grin over his shoulder. "It'll be a nice big slumber party."

"Don't worry, you'll have your own room," Prentiss added upon seeing Anna's apprehensive expression. "We would never subject anyone to shacking up with Reid for a night."

Anna glanced over at Reid, but he never saw what expression her face held as he had already turned to look away out the window, his cheeks igniting. It was true, he was always the last picked when for some unfortunate reason the hotel they were staying at was overbooked and everyone had to choose a roommate. He knew his teammates didn't mean anything by it, it just so happened that the girls would pick each other, and Hotch and Rossi were best friends so that was obvious. Morgan would get stuck with Reid and would dedicate at least an hour to bitching and moaning about how Reid snored, even though he didn't, and kicked in his sleep, which he might have, until finally giving up and dropping the topic. There was that one really humiliating time when Morgan had picked to room with Garcia over Reid, even though he had to sleep on the floor, and Reid was forced to get his own room. He knew that using the word _forced_ was kind of ridiculous since he was actually lucky to be the only member of the team to get his own room, but it still stung to know that the only reason he got it was because no one wanted to share with him. It felt like high school all over again. He was the young, neurotic weirdo who had trouble sustaining a conversation for more than a minute and always got picked last for any group event.

But Anna didn't need to know about all that.

She didn't need to know about the bullying, and the abandonment, and the insecurities. She didn't need to know that, even though his team was the only family he had ever known, sometimes he still felt like an outcast, or that even though he had amassed an almost unparalleled knowledge in some of the most complicated of theories and sciences, women were still a complete mystery to him. She didn't need to know that, now officially in his thirties, he had only ever had sex three times in his life, and one of those times had lasted under a minute. And she definitely didn't need to know that her thigh pressing against his right at that moment was making it extremely hard for him to concentrate on anything except how warm it felt.

"You'll have an armed guard outside your door at night," Hotch spoke, snapping Reid's attention away from Anna's thigh and back into the conversation.

"Plus six of the best FBI agents in the country sleeping next door," Morgan added with a smirk.

"We'd like to keep at least one team member with you at all times, so during the day we would like it if you would accompany us to the Phoenix Police Station where we have set up our base," Hotch continued, ignoring Morgan. "It will make it easier for us to keep a close eye on you if you're physically in the station with us. It will also allow us to conduct our interviews with you during this time."

"Ok, that's fine with me," Anna answered. She had stopped glancing out the windows and was now staring intently at her hands as they squirmed in her lap. She looked as if she was engaged in an intense mental battle, her brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, she spoke again. "Is it—can I ask something?" she said in a hesitant voice. "And will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes," Hotch answered simply.

She paused again, seemingly trying to find her words. "Is there any chance of you actually finding this guy before another girl gets hurt?"

The air in the car froze, all eyes shooting to Hotch to see how he would respond. His eyes connected with Anna's in the rearview mirror for a second before they moved back to the road. After another moment he answered in his simple, brusque manner, "No."

Reid's mouth actually dropped open slightly, a reaction he might have thought a bit over the top had he not also heard Prentiss's sharp intake of breath at the same moment. Morgan actually vocalized his shock, exclaiming a loud, "Hotch! What are you—" before being cut off.

"She deserves to know the truth," Hotch continued, his eyes reconnecting with Anna's in the mirror. "No, we most likely won't catch him before he kills again. The increase in his cycle speed doesn't give us enough time. But we will catch him, I promise you that. We are not going anywhere until we get him."

"Thank you," Anna responded in a soft voice. "For being honest. I wasn't expecting that."

Hotch gave a small nod before looking back at the road.

The remainder of the ride was held in complete silence, the low hum of the car the only real noise. When they finally pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, JJ was already waiting, two large duffel bags in hand.

The car was barely in park when Reid scrambled out the door, putting as much distance between him and Anna's warm thigh as possible. The humidity hit him like a brick wall, instantly making his stomach turn, but anything was better than the dizzying, confusing, extremely uncomfortable feeling he got with Anna being so close. He hadn't been that close to a woman who wasn't Prentiss or JJ in a long time, and the sudden close proximity to a female who was not carrying a gun and who could not totally kick his ass in hand to hand combat was making him remember just how completely hopeless he was when it came of the members of the opposite sex. Prentiss and JJ were safe, comfortable, almost motherly. He had known them so long that JJ's big doe eyes and Prentiss's tight fitted shirts didn't even register on his radar anymore. But Anna, she was something new. She was unknown territory. And she was utterly terrifying because of it.

JJ shot him a weird look as he scrambled to her side, cheeks still tinged pink and slightly out of breath, before turning back to Anna who was being helped out of the car by Prentiss and Morgan. Hotch stood off to the side, phone attached firmly to his ear.

"Hi, you must be Anna," she said, a gentle smile on her face.

"Yeah, that's me," Anna answered, cringing slightly as she took a slow step forward, hand gripping Prentiss's outstretched arm tightly.

"I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ. I wasn't really sure what to get you, so I just kind of grabbed a bunch of random clothes from your closet and all the toiletries you had in the bathroom. If you want, we can make a quick trip to your house tomorrow to get more stuff, as long as we don't stay too long."

"No, that's ok," Anna answered. "I don't think I can go back there yet."

JJ nodded in understanding, the smile that had been gracing her lips falling slightly. "Well, let's get you settled then," she continued, motioning with her arm towards the entrance of the hotel.

At that moment Hotch rushed over to the group, his mouth set in a thin line, eyes blazing. "There's been another attack. This time, we have two bodies."


End file.
